


Expired Benefits

by Nightlock



Category: Alan Wake (Video Game)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-14
Updated: 2021-02-14
Packaged: 2021-03-14 07:08:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,298
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29414622
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nightlock/pseuds/Nightlock
Summary: When Alan and Barry get drunk at the Anderson Farm, memories invade Barry’s mind of different times they shared. (Takes place at the end of episode 4. Rated for language and canon-typical themes.)
Relationships: Alan Wake/Alice Wake, Alan Wake/Barry Wheeler
Kudos: 2





	Expired Benefits

**Author's Note:**

> I really wanted to write this. Idk why either. I had another fic in mind first. This was like my low-key first ship for me so yeah. No one asked for this but I hope whoever reads enjoys it.

“Listen, Al. I’m so sorry about Alice. Seriously. Because I, I know we don’t get along but we’re gonna find her, right?" It was true, all things considered even if they weren’t on the best terms Barry did want to help Al find Alice. Wherever she was. What he said he meant, probably. The confidence was fueled by the magic in the bottle but somewhere maybe he felt they could actually find her. Maybe. 

Barry continued, “And even though you’re a crazy bastard, I’m gonna stick by you. No matter what. Forever, Al, ‘cause your like a brother.” Barry's string of words were a long slur accompanied with a few side-fist taps to his chest to emphasize their comradery. Thought the term ‘brother’ was like a stain on his mind; the reason anything but-the subtle strain masked with his drunken stupor.

They were drunk. Along the verge of pissy drunk though a feat easily achieved with the magical moonshine made by the elderly Anderson brothers; their song _Children of the Elder God_ playing softly in the background of it all. Alan and Barry stayed close by the fireplace where the bright flames danced to keep them safe for the rest of the night. No electrical faulty nonsense--thanks to the unnatural wisps of darkness reaching to snuff out its weakness--to make them vulnerable. Barry and Alan were smart motherfuckers. They wanted none of that bulb busting bullshit while they were at their most dull and useless, thanks to the booze; their guards down and their alcohol blood content way up. 

The air was thick and humid with a chill, thanks to the dewy, foggy night of Bright Falls; the warmth from the fire and the faint smell of dust and old house from disuse all mixing in with the strange and lingering aroma of moonshine. Spirits in the bottle, Alan and Barry had been possessed with drunken babble and words slurring thick as though their tongues were heavy and their lips useless, a tingling numbness from the high-quality alcohol. It burned going down and buzzed their brains, just right, as reality started to become muddy around the edges. Laughter and nonsense filled the Anderson brother’s old farmhouse as Alan proclaimed his talent to write ten books, if he wanted, and Barry the agreeing sideman, for a fleeting moment, before the bluntness of the booze had the truth pouring out that it wasn’t the case. At least, Barry had questioned the nonsensical back and forth from his best friend stuck between if he could or couldn't; lost with a ‘wha. . .?’ hanging dumbly in the air. 

It wasn’t long after that, that the mood shifted like emotional whiplash. Suddenly, the air was heavier--thick with tension and forboding--and the fire burned hotter in the room and Al had become sullen. His hand reached to his head as though trying to massage away the pain from his temple while his shoulders drooped and his thoughts raced with one thing in mind: Alice. There was the guilt and shame all torrenting fast, harsh and brutal. Alan’s heart felt a wrenching ache at the center that was twisting and stretching past its limit; at the moment right before muscle would start to tear. It then began to overflow and pour out all at once. It was an intense feeling of self-loathing from his failures, and more importantly, failing to protect Alice--to save her--from whatever horrors she was entrapped in. 

The sudden depressive woes from his best friend had given Barry some means to sober up a little, if anything, to offer a shoulder of support. Mentioning her name earlier might have been a mistake, although Barry was sure even without his two cents it would’ve all ended up the same. Al’s love for Alice always bordered something unnaturally intense and hyper focused, or so Barry thought, so it was no surprise Al had brought her up on his own. Alice had been missing for at least a week or so and Barry had nothing to go by but Al’s lunatic rantings that she was stuck in the lake by the darkness and _alive_. Barry would think it was all insane bullshit if he hadn’t experienced so much in the last few days. Seen so much. He believed Al. Well, now he did after being on the receiving end of this madness firsthand. He saw the darkness revive itself into a tangible evil that was hungry to devour whatever it could and destroy whoever got in the way. It targeted whoever dared to challenge it or allowed themselves to fall victim by just being in the wrong place at the wrong time. He had thought Al was insane at first, trying to coo him to relax and sleep and maybe not make such outrageous claims in fear he’d end up locked up somewhere where everything was soft, padded and people disappeared. It was different now. Nothing could convince Barry that this shit wasn’t happening. Not after the shit they’ve endured to get to the farm to find the Andersons' cryptic message. It was all too much to ignore. Too much to think this was all from their unhinged imaginations. 

Everything had accumulated into a world crushing weight that smashed down on their good time and evolved into something more akin to a funeral; closed casket as loved ones mourned, bellowed and grieved. Barry _hated_ seeing Al upset. It did something to Barry, something bad and aching, and there wasn’t a bottle of any alcohol or drug strong enough in the world to keep him from noticing it or ignoring it. 

Regardless, to put it bluntly, Al was a mess. He was stuck somewhere between frustration and unshed tears, as his mournful, drunken chanting skipped like a broken record of how much he missed Alice and needed to see her. All Barry could do was pat Al’s sunken shoulder and tell him it’ll be okay; they’d make it right. Hell if he knew if they would be able to or not but saying anything otherwise felt like death would be reality for Alice and them both. Barry could only recall Al's ranting in the car on the way to the farm, before they crashed, that words behind creative talent held immense power by Cauldron Lake so saying anything against their goal felt like sabotage. Barry was no writer or harbored creative talent by any means, only orchestrated it, but he held onto whatever Al said knowing damn well he experienced pure insanity since entering Bright Falls. He knew. _They_ knew. 

Barry’s eyelids felt heavy and his expression stuck between tired and fake, like a plastic doll stuck with a smile, while Al dealt with his grief. It was grief, wasn’t it? Missing his wife for days, presumed dead by most, and anytime they got closer to her she felt farther away; an endless hallway where they never were close enough, fast enough. None of this shit felt real. 

“Relax, Al. Try to sleep it off.” Barry offered the advice solemnly while the last of the song played with only the sound of the cackling fire filling the room. Barry knew Al needed some rest. He couldn’t remember the last time Al could sleep without issues plaguing him, not that tonight was much different, but he’d need as much sleep as he could get before they’d have to leave in the morning. Daylight was the only safe part of the day but sleeping was a was a waste of the daylight hours as they fought against the clock to beat the darkness. It was ironic and tiresome. 

With little resistance, Al laid down on the couch closing his eyes though hardly peaceful; face furled tight while quietly mumbling to himself something unintelligible. Barry sat on the floor next to the couch Al occupied, close by the fire, to keep an eye out; at least, best he could for a little while. He had some hope Al would actually sleep a little. Barry could manage his task of watching Al from the seat across, but he felt he had to be close. Knew he _needed_ to be close. Nostalgia flooded in, and with it, intertwined bittersweet feelings of the times after it. The 'after' being when Alice entered the picture. 

Alice. . .was a heavy topic right now, Barry understood but she’s always felt like a hard pill to swallow; her at the forefront of Al’s mind like always. Even now, in the midst of their small time to enjoy a drink or two before hell came knocking at the door. Barry figured now was the most appropriate to think of her out of any, especially with her safety in question, but it didn’t mend the ache in his chest any more or less. Not even alcohol deterred Al’s ambition to save her; grant him a temporary reprieve from the strain of the task. Good times dampened by it. Good time halted by it. Good times disabled by it. Barry felt like an ass to think so callously but it had felt like ages since the two were like this. Drunk off their asses spewing stupid shit that didn’t matter in the morning, but tonight it did matter. It mattered this time. It was Alice. Anytime her name was in the conversation it always mattered. Carried over and overwriting anything else, demanding top priority. 

Al had been gradually falling apart since this entire vacation had started, hell, since his career went on an unwilling hiatus from his damn writer’s block. For whatever reason, oblivious to Barry, Al never opened up about it. Never gave any indication as to why it happened. He’d been trying to get a book out of his friend for countless weeks that bundled into months that eventually lead to a little over two years. A perpetual dry spell that left Al broken; sarcastic and at times mean and difficult be around. He had grown hard and serious with a pessimism that made sunshine feel like a getting a root canal. He'd sometimes take his frustrations out on the few that were close to him. The few closest to him despite his smart mouth and barely leashed temper. Al had closed everyone off until the last person he could manage to keep in his life, Barry. Best friends who happen to be client and agent gradually became just client and agent with a professional cordiality that was borderline frustrating at times. There were uncommon moments that resembled a semblance of those better days of best friends enjoying each other’s company. Random, vulnerable moments when the anger subsided, and the guilt rushed in and came out with regret and promises to do better and be better. Al was a wild ride and had a problem with yo-yoing back and forth between moods. An uncontrolled force of self-destruction Barry had been vouching for for years. More so within the last year of Al's final Alex Casey book, _The Sudden Stop_ , release and up until present day. Alice had only made things more difficult as their three-way had deep wedges, Alan Wake reinforced with a wall on all sides where neither could effectively reach to save Al from himself. 

Maybe it was the damn moonshine, but Barry’s head felt overbearingly full as thoughts and feelings--old and new--melded together into some forsaken creature. Distorted and ugly amalgamations of everything building up, taking up too much space, the metaphorical telling crack of bone breaking heard from the inside of the ear; skull forced to give from the pressure. It was a mass of things Barry hadn’t thought about, or felt, in years that resurfaced and forced its way through like some swamp thing submerging from the dark, dank depths of the cesspool of his mind. A monstrous thing hungry for his stability with a dire urge to make Barry something he didn’t want to be. It almost felt dangerous. Barry had come to terms with every single emotion and thought that had become the creature but the truce felt like it was on the verge of breaking; all alliance for peace dead. 

Although Barry hadn’t liked Alice, the feeling mutual from her, they at least had an understanding. Sometimes. Usually. Other times, she’d give Barry and Al a hard time though Barry would get the blunt of it from egging Al on adventures that was really just work-related mingling. Did it have to involve parties and drinking? Sometimes, but not always. It was always the core of conflict though. About the partying, broken promises and super late nights that carried into the morning. It was for work, or somewhere between the truth of that, but either way-or not-Barry would get an earful from Alice when she reached her limit then dead silence following after from them both until everything cooled down and returned back to that tense neutral they commonly shared amongst each other. It never got so bad that if Barry called he'd go ignored, never that, but not getting any calls was the signal to keep the distance unless it was important or work related. It felt like some weird as fuck love triangle and Barry was the side piece. So much drama but he wouldn't trade it to be done with Al. Never so much drama to lead to that. 

Al would still go out and mingle and party harder than necessary, but it always led to Barry being blocked out and the two going off at it and then he’d not see Al for days afterwards. Sometimes weeks unless necessary. Alice had always been a heavy topic to bear. Always. They were on opposite sides of the spectrum that was Alan Wake and both pinned for his attention. Best friend versus wife, who’s gonna win that round? Barry hadn’t even put up the fight and had the white flag in hand even before they were vowed; his interference more work related than anything. Work was the only thread he and Al had at times and he took the chance. Not maliciously, of course, he was going to keep things steady, money coming in and more deals made, even if it amounted to him being ‘the bad guy’ at times. 

With Al already in some semblance of sleep on the couch-at least still and quiet enough to count for sleepz-Barry stayed on the floor, too relaxed to move, with dull eyes and slow breathing while feeling the booze course through his veins; every crease of his brain drowned in moonshine. He’d touch at his nose every so often to make absolutely sure this shit wasn’t making his brain ooze from his nostrils. Everything was like a dream-like blur and his mind was only full with Al. It was always like that though, ever since they were damn kids that bled upward into the entirety of their adult lives: _Are you okay, Al? How’s the book doing? You can’t punch people, Al, even if they’re paparazzi. Remember to smile and charm 'em, bud. Need that manuscript, Al. Gotta mingle, bestseller._ Their dynamic was always Alan: the troublemaker, and Barry: the smart talking genius with the gift of gab that bailed them out. There was no surprise they were best friends, they needed each other. They needed that balance. Al made things less boring and Barry sewed shit back up before they ripped it too far past the seams. They were a real duo, still are as far as Barry was concerned. Maybe not as woven together but still a duo. Partners in crime. 

The crazy bastard really pulled a number this time, something not even the most intelligent, charismatic, dedicated literary agent could pull him out of. This wasn’t like a punch to some rando paparazzi jerk, bad time with a fan or some crazy ass stunt after a night of partying and drinking. This was. . .real shit. Real _crazy_ shit and Barry started to wonder if they were both just crazy together. Two peas in a pod. Two bodies, one mind. Like when they were kids or the old days; still fresh in college. This entire thing with the moonshine felt like déjà vu. Back to the Future shit. Al making some crazy ass proclamation between drinks and Barry just rolling with it. 

\---- 

“I’m gonna do it, Barry. I’m gonna write a shit ton of books and be the best writer ever.” Alan had his fifth beer in his hand. Not that beer was all he had. He and Barry were surrounded by discarded beer cans and a few paper bags with the good shit that burned going down and whispered sweet nothings in the ears and tingled at the limbs. Or it egged on with vague threats and shit talking; making the entire world an enemy--whatever the drink was and whatever mood Alan was in. He was an impulsive man sober so drinking was Russian roulette with the guy at times. Barry laughed, almost spitting beer back into his can like a joke untold. 

“Yeah? For real, Al? Since when?” 

“Since forever. You know I like books. Crimes and mysteries. Shit like that.” The beer almost tickled going down, carbonated and dry with a hint of the chemical aftertaste. 

“Uhhh, yeah, but never heard you say you’d _write ’em_. Dude, that’s great! Alan Wake, the writer. A nice kick.” Al's name did have a catchy ring to it. It’d like good as hell on a hardcover book. 

“I’m gonna write a ton of em’, get rich and live the best life.” Alan repeated; the telling click and quick spurt of carbonated air from a new can of beer opening filling their space. Barry took a long swig of his own beer, finishing of his seventh. 

“Well, then I’m gonna-I’m gonna be the best agent. . .Literary agent! I’ll make it work, AI, already got some connections. Friends in special places,” Barry boasted with the amplified affect of booze invading his senses. Well, that wasn’t so much the right lane of the truth as Barry knew people, who knew some people, who might be related to some people who had special connections, but it all felt the same to him in the moment, “You got this, bud.” The perfect wingman. Not just hype but somewhere where Barry was sober, always able to hold his drinks better than Alan, he actually thought it. They were dicking around in college at the moment but now they had plans and they could make it happen. They would. Barry would make sure of it. 

“I dun’t even _need _connections, Barry. These books. These damn books are gonna kick so much ass. So much," there was a pause of reflection then the doubt crept in like a crack on a windshield from a pebble, “I think.” Barry snorted, he clearly wasn't drunk enough yet sitting their doubting his drunken dreams.__

__“Al. Did I hear you right? You think? Leave the weak shit at the door, my friend. Bestseller’s don’t talk like that. They don’t _think_. Uhh, unless it’s about books-writing books, I mean. Yeah! Just think about writing books, bestseller.” To be, you gotta think, Barry thought. He wanted Al to focus on the goal and it started with believing it. Affirmation thinking or whatever. The fun time haze of the alcohol had simmered a bit and there were only fumes now to Barry’s inner fire. He wanted this to happen and he knew Al could do it. That they could do it. This wasn’t just drunk bullshit to forget in the morning, it was real. Al had seemed convinced and then the flames calmed and the cool taste of Barry’s new beer brought him back down to just mildly hyped; a tacky flavor but it rained over the best places in his gut. _ _

__“Best. . . Bestseller? I didn’t, I mean, I don’t even have a-“ The doubt was strong in this one, Barry thought. Al was always like that at his core. The insecurities he'd try to mask with some false, sometimes fragile, bravado that cracked when he was battling himself. One half taking charge and the other lagging behind questioning everything. It was something Barry wished he could snap Al out of hence his wingman role that he accepted wholeheartedly._ _

__“Eh, don’t even say it, Al. We’ll get our shit together and make it work. Liberal Arts my ass, you’re gonna write, baby!” Barry held up his half empty beer for a toast. Alan couldn’t help but smile something lopsided and goofy on his usual stoic expression. Alan relaxed-unbeknownst to him he had tensed in the first place out of habit-and took his can and they clicked them together._ _

__“To you writing, bestseller!”_ _

__“Yeah? And you being the best damn agent ever.” Both took the remainder of their beers and chugged them and laughed at their drunken nonsense._ _

__\----__

__

__Barry could feel the corner of his mouth pull into a subtle smile at the memory. It was like it was yesterday. Except it was more like now and yesteryear fused into some reality Barry wanted to be real again, stay real. Just the two of them drunk and throwing nonsense with not a care in the world. Well, that worked out well for them._ _

__Barry’s mind plagued him with an awful idea: what if Al decided never to write? What would’ve happened if they never had that night? If he never pursued writing as a career? If he never made it? Where the hell would they be? Well, they wouldn’t be in fucking Bright Falls with all this bullshit right now but besides that. They might have been the same. Stayed the same. Two shlops just getting by doing whatever, whenever. It almost sounded nice.__

__  
_ _

__Barry shook his head as though he was literally shaking the thoughts out of his mind; almost cartoonish. It was dangerous waters; deep and dark with something waiting at the bottom to devour him whole and have him sulk in such a alternate reality. Trying to make him that bitter asshole of a friend who sabotaged instead of supported under the guise of a smile. The classic 'kind act with a knife behind the back' trope. It made Barry sick to his stomach at some baser level. If he turned right instead of left then he’d be the worst kind of friend._ _

__The flames flickers and cracked and Barry was hypnotized as he watched it dance and gradually burn away the old wood in the fireplace. It took him back, almost trance-like, to some really good times with Al. Intimate times. They all played back like video behind the eyes, some jutting out to the forefront more than others. One in particular was a fusion of business and fun.__

__

__\----_ _

__Alan had gotten home fairly late in the night on the edges of 3am, more or less, wasted and laughing about something untold to the world as he barreled in the door. He was giddy and loved the feeling, drinking one of the few ways he could forget his inner inhibitions and not be weighed down by his insecurities. He unabashedly enjoyed himself and it was liberating. Plus, it felt good as hell and the world was a little more bearable and everything was fun; life of the party incarnate. He had found Barry in the living room of their shared apartment checking his phone, apparently ignoring the noise, and at the moment Alan decided that the night didn’t have to end just yet._ _

__Without warning Alan had approached Barry, who didn’t even look up, and snatched his phone--it flying out of Alan’s hand and landing not too far off on the floor. There was a clank of plastic hitting wood, but it didn’t sound broken. Probably._ _

__“That screen better not have cracked, Al.” Barry warned with a scowl, supposedly not in the mood for any level of bullshit but such social language was lost to alcohol drowned eyes. Alan chuckled, straddling Barry’s lap. There was no resistance, but Barry still looked pissed, cheeks with color for any reason but what Alan had in mind._ _

__“Relax, Barry. It’s not a big deal. Have some fun.” Alan was buzzed with a strong smell of alcohol misted around him; breathless chuckles fueled by his intoxication and arousal as he grinds against Barry while straddled over his lap._ _

__“Fun? Fun. Now? Right now? Listen, Al. I found something right up your alley. It’s putting your foot in the door.” Barry’s words hadn’t slowed Alan’s advances in the least._ _

__It hadn’t been the first time they’ve fooled around. Nothing serious, just friends having a good time. Nothing defined or set-in stone. Drunk or sober or whatever it was always when the time felt good. It always felt good. Except at the moment. Well, it still felt good, but it wasn’t the time for it. Barry had set up something to start Al's career. A starving writer was a dead one, as was his literary agent, and he wasn’t on that shit. As soon as Barry had some footing to set up a gig, he did. Which was why he was less enthused now even though his body said otherwise, full betrayal._ _

__“L-listen, Al. Hello? I said I got a gig here. You just gotta interview for it. It’s time sensitive stuff. They need a writer for a show, Night Springs. Night. Springs. It's an on and off thing but it's a good start. Are you listening, Al?” Barry pleaded his case as though he didn’t send Alan a series of texts and phone calls that went straight to voicemail. Alan had gone out to have a good time after another shit-filled week of nonsense at a nowhere job most creators needed to live ‘in the now’ before the success of later, if later ever happened. Which was not unusual. It was like their ritual, creatures of habit--their modus operandi--to work hard all week and then party harder on the weekends. Usually Barry followed alongside Alan, with no complaint, having drinks, dancing, and making stupid hook-up bets and if nothing came out of the night they’d return to their apartment and get all the kinks out of the week themselves. They have their own parties just for the helluvit sometimes when they were too tired to go out. That’s how it usually worked but this time Al was the on an inebriated high and Barry felt like the parent trying to set priorities for a kid, with potential, slipping through the cracks; ready to nag about curfew. He had stayed behind opposed to going on tonight because, in his words he was ‘catching something _big_ ’! _ _

__“Yeah. You said it a million times. I heard you." Alan hadn’t stopped his ministrations, interest felt through his dark slacks. They were so close that the chill in the apartment felt scorching and humid between panting breaths fumed with alcohol. Alan stole a chaste kiss to the lips, and it trailed down Barry's chin to the soft of his neck with playful nips while hips gyrated, slow and sensual, for some response. A moan rumbled from Alan's throat as he felt it all-his body sensitive and feeling open for touches. Alan had always been the more touchy-feely type when drunk enough and drunk on the right stuff. When he reached that peak, he’d find his ‘home’ which was usually Barry. Usually._ _

__“A-Al. . .Al, I’m serious here,” Alan continued as though deaf to any indication of seriousness taking his hands under Barry's shirt-loving the give when he squeezed at soft plumpness-chuckling against skin, “This job is huge!” Barry took Alan to the shoulders to pull him off and gain eye contact and Alan laughed something silly and silky like a deep chest purr._ _

__“Big, huh? Not yet-“_ _

__“Al, bud!” Barry shook his shoulders as though to break the horny spell, “Focus here. We don’t have time for anything else right now. You want to lose this chance? No, right? Right.” Those words were a sobering moment and Alan rolled his eyes and he sulked._ _

__“ _Come on_ , Barry. A TV show? Really?,” Alan almost felt disgust at the thought. Nothing about writing for TV excited him in the least and felt like low-bearing fruit that was over ripened and soft with rot. Alan was an artist. He wanted to write books and short stories and win literary awards.The mere mention of the potential job had almost made him lose his hard-on. Almost. “Besides, the interview isn’t _tonight_. Fuck now, interview later.” Alan slurred; glance sultry yet dulled from the weight of his eye lids. Barry sighed, ignoring his own arousal. _ _

__“How would you know when it is? Couldn’t get a word out of you all night. Turn on your damn phone, asshole.” Alan leaned forward, their foreheads now touching. Whatever Alan had was strong, the closeness making the alcohol smell sharp and stinging at his senses. They were sharing breathe that felt as intimate as a kiss._ _

__“I saw the millions of texts, Barry. Hard to miss. I lost a free drink from that, thanks.” Alan had his phone on, and it went off like crazy at the wrong time. He was approached by a promising good time with a woman that was all curves, dressed sharp and just gorgeous-like some crime fiction knockout femme fatale. She slid into Alan’s space at the club, silky and sexy, asking him if he wanted a drink--full Dutch. When he was going to answer her with the charm turned up to max his phone went off. Then it went off again. Then again. Maybe a few more times before it vibrated and chimed. With a coy smile and mild voice Alan answered yes, and she gave him a pert smile and said, “Maybe next time, handsome.”_ _

__It was something painfully humiliating--if under the right circumstances--but the club was loud and the atmosphere dark with blaring lights of varying colors and Alan was just another drunk face in a crowd; surrounded by loud music and dancing bodies under the spell of the music and their drinks having a good time. It was a scene missed by the deaf and blind by booze. Alan took his phone out of his pocket to see, by no surprise, it was Barry blowing up his messages over a damn TV show. Out of vindication, Alan had ignored them and put his phone on silent before ordering something hard, whiskey sounding nice. He’d try again and possibly get somewhere. Hopefully, but then it ended and Alan retreated home with the party still on his shoulders and something boiling for another type of good time._ _

__“So, you did see ‘em! Al! What the hell!” Barry would be mad if it wasn’t so typical. Alan had leaned back and rolled his head to the side in annoyance from the excited exclamation Barry had made directly in his face. It reminded Alan of his needed release so he started palming at his crotch to feel something. He wanted some relief from the discomfort of his erection tenting his pants. He just wanted to come. It’d be a lot more fun with a fuck but at this point even a quick jack would work. Feeling good was top priority._ _

__“Right.” Alan breathed huskily from the stimulation that Barry ignored. It was all he said before reaching for Barry’s jeans in no way wondering why Barry was still wearing anything right now that wasn’t his usual sleepwear; a loose, white t-shirt and some old sweat shorts he’d never throw away. Mind dulled by liquor Alan hadn’t realized Barry had also gotten in late making things work for him, for _them_. Their careers. Now it was Barry’s turn to roll his eyes while Alan struggled with his belt. One track mind when drunk. If only he could be that way for other things, Barry thought slightly annoyed. _ _

__“Al, this is literally a chance of a lifetime here. I said I was going to be the best agent out there so-“ Alan cut him off-grabbing Barry by around his collar--bundling shirt in his fists--with rushed, sloppy kiss that kind of hurt as they bumped nosed that helped them avoid clashing teeth. Alan leaned in to get deeper, licking at teeth for access he was granted without a fight. He explored as the heat of their mouths mingled. Barry could taste the good time Al had on his breath. Fuck, it felt really good. Alan moaned and it vibrated into Barry and he returned the favor. It was easy to get lost in the sudden exchange, Barry's hands wandering up Alan's flanks under his shirt. Wandering hands were rewarded with more zealous exploring._ _

__When they pulled away both were taking breaths to catch up from the missing air from their lungs, lips moist and bodies hot. There was silence for but a quick moment, but it felt like an hour or more. Minds were smooth with lust and it took a moment to feel the draft in the air before either of them even thought to speak. Alan made the first move, taking one of Barry’s hands and putting it at where his pants tented. Barry swallowed dry feeling Al hot and thick. Alan stared with an intense fire, wanting a based need satisfied before anything else._ _

__“Barry, it’s fine. I’ll do it, just-for fuck’s sake, shut up. We'll talk about it later.” Alan said taking his hands, heavy from drunkenness, to work at the buttons of his dark dress shirt. Giving in, Barry swatted Alan’s hands away to undo the buttons himself; his damn best friend useless when drunk enough. It was frustratingly cute. Barry’s hands explored Alan’s chest now free and open, shirt discarded on the floor. He was rewarded with wanton need, Alan cursing encouragement under his breath, husky and bothered._ _

__“Alright, Al. A celebratory fuck but you better apply. I’m gonna be on your ass until it’s done.”_ _

__“ _Fuck_ , please.” Barry was sure he took it the wrong way, but it didn’t matter now. It was time they both had some relief. Damned, drunken bastard. _ _

__\----_ _

__So many memories. From times when Al was unabashedly slutty to times when he was reserved and, at times, coy with himself. Al over and under him, varying positions and the two enjoying themselves. As erotic as it was nothing in Barry’s body stirred. No inner warmth, just the warmth from the fire. Thank God for moonshine. It wasn’t the time or place--and to be honest Barry was in no mood either way--but it wasn’t memory Barry referred back to often. Something repressed and hidden, before tonight, like most of their good times and such. Barry could still recall telling Al to make it as vague as possible when anyone asked. Talk show hosts, radio hosts, journalists, whoever interviewed asked the same damn question; where did it start? The most PR friendly answer was short and sweet, “With Night Springs”. The details were irrelevant. Image. Al had an image to uphold and not that their fun was wrong, but it was irrelevant. Unneeded and useless information. It was a notion that made Barry feel kind of bitter inside. Stale and curdled with an aroma of something foul. Irrelevant, yeah, that sounded about right. By the time Al started writing his books it was all irrelevant and would muddy the image of “a married writer”. Not that Al was married right away or anything but when he met Alice he might as well have been. Even if Al wasn’t, “a single writer” drew a crowd, the fans delusional enough to want to be Mrs. Wake. Their time would stain any of that, so it stayed where it belonged, a forgotten past between the two._ _

__Barry looked up from the floor to see Al had still been out of it. Maybe he was sleep? His eyes looked closed from the angle of the floor, but Al was mumbling; face distorted. Maybe it was his imagination, but he was sure he heard Alice. Barry grimaced and it came flooding back. The good times were still good, but they were never as good since then. Then followed the bittersweet._ _

__\----_ _

__“So, this is your first book, huh?” Alice Peterson asked with a smile as she set up her camera, her studio something modest and small, well-lit and bright, her displayed works impressive. Casual hobby pieces and some print outs of commissions were dressed on the walls contrasting with the inviting, home-like decor. They were conversation pieces and visual examples of her work for potential clients. It was breathtaking really and that went beyond the pictures, Alan thought._ _

__Alan nodded to her question dumbly and realized Ms. Peterson was preoccupied with her camera and finally spoke, “Yes. Yeah. Not my first time writing but my first book.”_ _

__“What’s it about, Mr. Wake?” It sounded so formal and Alan couldn’t remember the last time he had heard it. At least, outside of shitty jobs but they had just met so it was proper. Still, his nose almost wrinkled at the thought but it hearing it coming from Ms. Peters--Alice had given it a nice ring, something pleasant and inviting. His name was hardly muttered in such a casually fond way. Distracted by the thought he almost forgot to answer._ _

__“Alex Casey, crime-fiction about a detective out for revenge while solving the case of his murdered loved ones.” Alice had giggled. Alan had been so blunt and to the point and it was nothing at all like she pictured. It took her off guard in a pleasant way. He smiled in return with subtle fondness._ _

__“Sounds interesting, Mr. Wake. I look forward to reading it.” She said positioning herself behind the camera. Alan was about eight feet forward from the camera with a white back drop behind him, sitting on a stool, with lighting that was soft and balanced to avoid overexposure and glare. Although Alice was behind the lighting set up, she almost glowed something ethereal and Alan was mesmerized._ _

__Alan had been immediately smitten with Alice from their first handshake during consultation and during their first shoot, to now--this being their second to try a new angle to appease the publisher. Her voice and demeanor were like a soft breeze; something familiar and genuine. She was refreshing and Alan knew he’d come back, pictures or not._ _

__Barry was overseer and had set up everything saying something along the lines of: ‘an author’s profile is as important as the book, Al.’ He was checking his phone, occasionally glancing at the photos on the wall framed and placed so professionally with a unique perspective that was alluring and beautiful. Even the most mundane photographs of objects or scenery seemed to draw him in. Real eye catchers if he had to be honest. Barry had been recommended Ms. Peterson’s services through a guy he knew but hadn’t expected to be pleasantly surprised that she fit the bill to a ‘T’. Exaggeration was all too common when names were passed around in the industry but Ms. Peterson was an exception to the rule; her example works were flawless. They bought something out of the subject matter that was probably never noticed before. Barry didn't know apples in a bowl could evoke that thought in him and he almost snorted at how insane that sounded.__

 _ _Either way, Ms. Peterson seemed to get along with Al too which was a plus. Sort of. Maybe too much. At least, Barry could tell something had took off in Al's head by that dumb look on his face. Al looked like his head was full and his brain was smooth. So full, in fact, that he was deaf to Ms. Peterson’s instructions. It looked bad and if she was worth the bill Barry would want to call her back for the next photo shoot because there was going to be another one. Barry would bet his life on it. He went full literary agent mode._ _

__“I’m sorry, what?” Alan had woken from his thoughts hearing a softness only from a distance, Alice speaking to him-words illegible to his ears. Alice was tickled but Barry not so much._ _

__“Al, focus.” Barry warned and Alice smiled subtle though admittedly forced, a feign pull of her lips--when looking to Barry feeling the warning was unnecessary. She knew how to do her job, either way, and found her newest client charming to say the least._ _

__“It’s okay, Mr. Wheeler,” Alice reassured had turned back to Alan, getting back into place subtle smile, “I said remember to hold up your chin and turn your heard like before. If you want to be the mysterious new author you have to look the part, right?” Alan let it sink in and thought it’d be easier if she told him to smile, her presence growing something soft and giddy in his chest._ _

__“R-right, sorry.”_ _

__“It’s okay, do your best. I’ll do the rest. I promise, it’ll be good. It's impossible not to get your good side.” Alan felt warmth in his cheeks though followed instructions as best as he could; fighting back another smile from something so simple. They'd probably need another shoot after this, his head in the clouds and his heart feeling somewhat exposed. Barry had seen it and it was a seed that was already planted deep that he wasn’t sure he wanted to see blossom._ _

__\----_ _

__Everything had halted since that point. Sure, Al had gotten on his A-game but his single-tracked mind was all Alice though not entirely a bad thing. He cleaned up a lot of his shit. Sort of. He battled with it less--a better way to put it. Which was for the better but it also sucked in some ways too. At least to Barry. The pros and the cons. Al went on to be a bestseller, for real, cleaned up nice and settled down with a darling wife he could never ask to be anything else--or anyone else--but it had left Barry in the dust like an old toy on the shelf that has lost its polish and luster. Not that he was nothing without Al, he had his own personal life and interests--people included--but the memories lingered stale and cloyingly sweet where it was too harsh to bear; candy that hit the tongue in the worst of ways, probably cut the roof of your mouth and fucked up your teeth if you didn’t brush enough. In short, a snack with absolutely no pay off._ _

__The realization was real. Barry had been the metaphorical cupid and set it all up, unbeknownst to him at the time, in more ways than one. There was a cruel balance in the book that was Barry Wheeler’s life. He helped Al reach his goals therefore reaching his own, he kept his promise and did his job well, but he lost something he cherished and only bottled the shell of what it was in the deepest trenches of his memories. Fuck this moonshine. What the _hell_ was in it? He sighed something deep and forlorn. Well, it wasn’t the worst of circumstances all things considered but it was still depressing. Maybe it’d be a little better if he and Alice got along. He’d try after this. Solidarity, a truce, Barry told himself. After all this shit, it granted him a new lease on life--a brand new perspective. Barry’s eyes slid closed and he slept deep hoping everything that crawled from the deepest depths of his mind would melt away in the morning with the sun like the darkness that hunted them. Surely tomorrow would be better, hell, start off better, right? _ _

__

**Author's Note:**

> I low-key get one-sided pinning vibes from Barry during the game. I feel like before Alice maybe they did stuff all casual or whatever, especially since the jealousy is explained in some of the manuscript notes. Idk, even if not it was fun as hell to write and had to get it out of my head. This was the block keeping me from writing anything else. I think…
> 
> Also, can I just say I have no clue when Alan decided to write and stuff. Just having fun with vague details. I also do not know when he met Alice but I’m thinking somewhere when he started writing? Maybe even further than that? Idk. I mean, she photographs the pics for his books… Also, I hope they are written okay? I just-gah, I’m self-conscious about it. First time dipping into this universe/characters. 
> 
> Feel free to share your thoughts and such. Sorry for any mistakes, I do proofread/edit a lot but I still miss things...I take prompts and the like on my writing tumblr (@nightlocked).


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